


you can see (she's a beautiful girl)

by AugustaByron



Series: samwell ladies' figure skating [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Kissing, Queer Women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6639409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustaByron/pseuds/AugustaByron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I've got to go,” Jackie says. Erica licks her lips, and Jackie wants, viscerally, to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you can see (she's a beautiful girl)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! This is a mash-up of Last Game, Women, Food and American Culture, and Goodbye for Summer (freshman and sophomore year). As such, some dialogue is adapted from each of these comics. All credit, of course, to Ngozi. 
> 
> Title from KT Tunstall.

They do not win the championships.

Jackie hides out in the loading docks. There's nobody there, thank fuck. She just needs a minute.

She sits on a pile of pallets, still in her Samwell-red skate dress. She is not going to cry. She is just going to take a minute and breathe, that's all.

Jackie hasn't cried over a skating competition since she was in rehab, watching Kate beam on the podium while the American national anthem played. She's not going to cry now.

There is a soft noise from behind her. Jackie turns, slowly, hoping that it's not one of the girls from the winning team, but--

Erica has changed back into street clothes, leggings and a plain sweater. She's got on her makeup, her hair still up in a tight, smooth bun. Without all her hair tumbling around her, she looks older.

The small noise comes again, something from deep in Erica's throat, and Jackie winces. But Erica doesn't talk. She just takes a few hesitant steps over and sits. Her small arms wrap around Jackie, and they sit. Erica is warm and solid at her side.

“I--” Jackie's voice comes out wet, and she clears her throat. “I'm taking next year off.”

She can't lose like this again. Not if there's a way she could have won, if she were on her own. The team is good, but they're competing at a level below Jackie's capabilities. It's nobody's fault, it's just--

“Okay,” Erica says. Her hand worms its way across Jackie's thigh, turns Jackie's hand palm-up. She interlaces their fingers and squeezes.

“Don't tell anyone yet?” Jackie asks. She probably doesn't deserve that kind of consideration from Erica. Jackie's been such a bitch to her.

“Okay,” Erica says again. She hugs Jackie even closer around the shoulders, swipes her thumb across the thin, sensitive skin on the back of Jackie's hand.

Jackie sighs and sags against Erica. She just needs a minute.

 

The thing is--

They've been getting along, sort of. They're both taking U.S. Women's History with Professor Atley. That's led to a lot of studying together, a lot of nights in the library or in the Haus kitchen, complaining about papers and sharing notes on the reading. Erica is sharply funny when she wants to be, and now that spring is bursting over campus she wears all these high-waisted shorts and pastel crop tops.

Add to that Erica keeping Jackie's secret, and it's a lot to handle.

The last project in class is a ten-minute presentation on their final paper.

They are currently trying to bake a cake from a recipe that Erica tracked down from the Victorian era. Her paper is about the impact of store-bought flour. She's been bemoaning the inaccuracy of the Haus oven to the ones of the time for the last ten minutes.

“It'll have to do,” Erica decides finally, like she was going to do anything else but actually bake this thing. The trick is going to be keeping the rest of the girls from scarfing it down before class tomorrow.

Jackie grabs the cake in its round tin and goes to put it in the oven, just Erica picks up the sack of flour and tries to put it away. They bump, and Jackie thanks years of athletic training that she doesn't drop Erica's cake on the floor.

Through scrambled apologies, Erica grins up at Jackie and says, “Jacqueline Lauren Zimmermann, you're a figure skater, not a hockey player! No checking in my kitchen.”

“ _Your_ kitchen?” Jackie laughs, but it's not like Erica's wrong. It was basically used for microwaving Lean Cuisine before Erica joined the team.

“Well, the kitchen, anyway,” Erica says, faux-haughty. “Move your perfect--”

She clams up abruptly, goes beet red. Jackie smirks down at her. “My perfect--?”

Erica sniffs and throws a handful of flour at Jackie. “Like you don't know.”

“I could hear a little more,” Jackie jokes. Sort of jokes. She can tell Erica is rolling her eyes without even seeing her face.

“Tell me more about your paper, Ms. Zimmermann. You should dress up for your presentation. Like Rosie the Riveter!”

“Maybe.” Jackie, in one of her stupider moments, decided to write about the ways that ideals of femininity changed during World War II. What was she thinking, writing a fashion paper? She wears leggings and tee shirts most of the time. It's not like she's her mother, who always makes looking beautiful seem effortless. “That seems kind of hard. I could show up in a dress and bottle stockings, that would be easier.” Abby has some vintage clothes that might work.

Erica starts coughing, and Jackie pounds her on the back. “Flour,” Erica gasps. “Down my throat. Bottle stockings?”

“You know. Silk and nylon were rationed, so women would paint their legs darker, with a line down the back to make it look like they were wearing stockings, even when they weren't.” Jackie frowns when Erica doesn't stop coughing. “Do you need some water?”

“No,” Erica says, when she's done. Her voice sounds a little hoarse. “No, I'm okay. Just, you know. Wrong tube.”

“Such a drama queen,” Jackie teases. “You're not the one who had a bunch of it thrown at her, eh?”

Erica laughs, high and frantic. “You know, I forgot, I need to update my video blog tonight! Got to have the part about this recipe on it! If anyone needs me I'll be recording in Larissa's room.”

And then she just dashes off, leaving Jackie standing there. She sighs, rolls up the sleeves of her flannel, and gets to work on cleaning up.

 

Jackie's mom and dad both come to help her pack up her room, since she's not coming back in the fall. Well, not this fall. She'll be back, though.

The explosion that Jackie spent months fearing never came. When she told the girls that she was taking a year to hopefully qualify for the Olympics, they threw a going-away party.

The Haus is quiet and bright, most of the girls gone already. Larissa and Shitty drove off to Boston together this morning, Justine and Abby headed out last night. Jane Johnson graduated and left her room to Erica.

In fact, the only one still left is--

“Oh!” Erica steps back, startled. She's carrying a box crammed with what look like linens. There's a stuffed rabbit peeking out over the top. Jackie's heart twists, a little. “I didn't know you were still here.”

“Just finishing up.” Jackie is aware of her mother and father over her shoulder, waiting to be introduced. “Erica Bittle, this is my dad, Alan Zimmermann. Mom, you remember Erica.”

“Of course I do,” Bobbie Zimmermann says. She smiles at Erica, genuine and warm. “It's so nice to see you again, dear. How are your mother and father?”

Jackie's dad moves to take the box from Erica, covering Erica's Southern pleasantries. “Nice to finally meet you,” he enthuses. “Jackie's mentioned you. Where does this go?”

“You don't need to do that, sir,” Erica says, and Jackie watches her dad melt at the accent and the politeness. There will be no getting out of it now. Alan is going to try to adopt her.

“Nonsense,” Alan booms, and carries the box the two steps into Erica's new room. “Do you have anything else? No, no, I insist. Help me feel a little useful, please.”

Erica follows Alan down the hall, protesting the whole way that she doesn't want to put them out, Mr. Zimmermann.

Jackie can't help the grin that covers her face. She becomes aware of her mother studying her, face impossible to read.

All that Bobbie says, though, is, “I like that girl, you know,” and “well! Is there anything else?”

Jackie looks around, but this was the last trip up to the room. Everything else is already packed in the truck, only a duffle left. “No. I just, uh. It feels like I forgot something.”

The sound of Jackie's dad tromping up the stairs, followed by a chattering Erica, wafts over to them. Erica laughs as Alan hefts an enormous box of books into her room.

“I'm proud of you, you know,” Bobbie says, abruptly.

“For what?” Jackie asks. It's not that she's startled, exactly. She just isn't sure where this is coming from. 

“You're going after what you want. I think that if you had let this pass you by, you'd always regret it. Do you understand what I'm telling you?”

Jackie's hands start shaking. “I. Um.”

“I think,” Bobbie says, giving Jackie a loaded stare, “that your father and I will go wait for you in the car.”

Jackie watches it all happen like she's standing outside her own body—Erica saying goodbye to her parents, Bobbie and Alan leaving the Haus. And then she's alone in the hall with Erica. Erica, who is leaning against the wall, smiling at Jackie, like she's got all the time in the world.

It's all swirling around Jackie, the time she's lost, the time she's wasted. Turin and Vancouver, and this year. This _year_. All the time that she didn't spend--

“Jackie? Are you all right?” Erica's smile has slipped away, replaced by concern.

Jackie doesn't want to waste another minute. She takes the two steps to Erica, leans down, and kisses her.

Erica's lips are soft and warm, smooth. She tastes like strawberry lip gloss, and Jackie wants to spend forever in this moment. She cradles the back of Erica's head, all that beautiful hair twirling between her fingers.

When she pulls away for a breath, to check, Erica is rapt, eyes still closed. Jackie can't help ducking down again, for longer this time.

Awareness comes back in stages. The way the sun dances across them, the smell of the summer breeze through the open window. Jackie's parents waiting downstairs in the car.

“I've got to go,” Jackie says. Erica licks her lips, and Jackie wants, viscerally, to stay.

“Okay,” Erica breathes.

Jackie thinks about Erica misinterpreting this, brushing it off. “I've gotta go, but I'll text you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Outside, a bird chirps. Jackie kisses Erica again, just once, sweet and quick. “I'll text you,” she promises.

“Okay.”

Jackie grabs her duffle and slings it over her shoulder. Erica is leaning against the wall again, mouth parted. Jackie can't stay another minute or she's going to stay forever.

She leaves.

 

In the car outside, Jackie pulls out her phone. Scrolls to Erica's number.

She bites her lip, unsure. Finally, she just types _Hi._

A second later, her phone buzzes.

 _Hi back_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact about the history papers: real topics! Store bought flour was a HUGE deal in the Nineteenth Century. Women's clothing in World War II definitely reflected changing ideals of femininity, in really huge and obvious ways. (Other fun fact: I am a history nerd.)


End file.
